Operation Charybdis
by godfreyraphael
Summary: What really happened during the infamous Operation Charybdis mentioned at the end of Black Ops? Was Mason following the Soviets' agenda or his own? This story aims to uncover what really happened.
1. Johannesburg

_Transmission#: 12-70-15-96 / Designate: JULIET_  
_Operation Charybdis has been deployed to **Johannesburg, South Africa** to eliminate Mason**  
Jackson, Ryan** and CIA team to meet with MI6 assets_  
_2230 hours **December 2, 1978**_

Lieutenant Jonathan Price wiped the sweat from his forehead and returned to the Infrared Scope on his L64 Enfield rifle. It was his first op with MI6 since he had been loaned to it by the Special Air Service. There wasn't much to complain about: everything was still pretty much the same, from the pay to the missions. The only thing that _did_ change was the level of secrecy of the missions: when in the SAS, it had been top secret, this was beyond top secret; this mission didn't even exist in government files.

He looked over to his partner for the mission, Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland. He was five years Price's junior, but he displayed a competence that went beyond his years. He knew little about the man personally, but what he did know was that he was good enough to merit a lot of private sessions with the royal family.

Across the hallway from him was the leader of this so-called Operation Charybdis, Agent Ryan Jackson of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America. He had been chosen for this mission because of his intimate knowledge with their target, a Captain Alex Mason. Price had taken the time to read the man's file, which read like a James Bond novel without all the girls. He'd certainly been to a lot of places: Cuba, Vorkuta, Baikonur, Vietnam, Laos, he'd been there, all right. He had over five hundred enemy kills, and about ten helicopters and nine tanks under his belt. He'd even participated in the attack and subsequent destruction of a Soviet freighter and underwater station. But the real problem with him was that he had been brainwashed by the Soviets during his incarceration in Vorkuta, posing him as a threat to his fellow operatives. After the events surrounding the sinking of the _Rusalka_, he had been following his own agenda whenever he can—it had cost the CIA nine Israeli athletes back in Munich, in 1972. Finally, the agency had had their last straw—he had to go.

"Remember, Mason is a smart person," Jackson told the operatives. "Recent intelligence says that he hired a local gang of black thugs to guard his safehouse, and he's undoubtedly booby-trapped any information that he's got. We've got only one shot at this. Let's make it count."

"What about Mason's accomplices?" asked Price. "Hudson and Weaver?"

"We'll cross the bridge when we get to it," replied Jackson. "Right now, our target is Mason. Okay, Price, you and Kirkland will take point; I'll provide cover."

Price nodded, as well as Kirkland. The lieutenant entered the hallway and saw two South Africans engaged in conversation and with their backs on him. He didn't understand the Afrikaner tongue they were talking in, and right now, he didn't care.

"I'll take the one on the right," Price told Kirkland. "You have the one on the left." Kirkland nodded and aimed for his target.

The South African gangster could only watch as a bullet went through his companion's neck before he too was felled by the British operatives.

"Hallway clear," Price reported.

"Look for Room 307," said Jackson. "The supervisor said the Mason was renting that out."

"Roger that," said Price. "Kirkland, throw a stun grenade."

Kirkland nodded, pulled the pin off of a stun grenade, opened the apartment door by a crack, and forced the grenade in. It went off with a loud bang, stunning anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.

"Go!" said Price. Kirkland kicked the door in and entered the room, followed by Price and Jackson. "Clear!" he shouted.

"Nobody's home," said Price.

"That's impossible," said Jackson. "The CIA advance team said that Mason had never left this apartment for the last seven days."

"Well, he's not here now. That much is clear."

Jackson aimed his flashlight at the wall of the apartment, where a large map of the world had been posted. There were yellow, orange, and red pins scattered around the map, and there was no concentration of a particular color. Finding nothing of value, he turned his attention to the table. There, he found a piece of paper with only two names written on it, along with a sequence of numbers. It read:

**Hans Berg 3 12 4 8 4 9 7 6 5 9 2 8 19**

**Heinz Doofenshmirtz 15 21 15 5 6 3 5 4 14 5 25 1**

"I know where he's going to be next," muttered Jackson.

"Where?" asked Price.

"Wherever these people are," said Jackson, showing Price the paper.


	2. East Germany and the Germanic Brothers

_Transmission #: 12-6-18 / Designate: FOXTROT  
CIA presence in _**East Germany**_ poses a threat to the local leadership_**  
Pavelovna**_ and _**Sokolov**_ to eliminate Mason and CIA support team  
2200 hours _**December 5, 1978**

Colonel Tanya Pavelovna lifted herself up from the ground and brushed the dirt off of her ghillie suit. "The patrol has passed," she said. "It's time to go." Her companion, Major Aleksandr Sokolov, did the same and tapped her on the shoulder. "I'm right behind you," he said.

Tanya Pavelovna was one of the Soviet Union's most famous World War Two snipers, second only to the likes of Vasily Zaytsev. From Stalingrad to Berlin, she had taken the lives of a hundred Wehrmacht soldiers. After the war, she was assigned to one of the Red Army's sniper training facilities in Siberia, where she once again made a name for herself as an excellent instructor. There was a story about her, that during an exercise, she had taken out her target while under duress, and when medical personnel checked her, they said that her pulse had not spiked as one would expect. Meanwhile, Aleksandr Sokolov had been recruited by Marshal Georgiy Zhukov and later Andrey Grechko to work on their respective staffs, but despite years behind a desk, he kept himself proficient in weapons by regular trips to the firing range.

They had been chosen for this mission because they were the only ones available on short notice. The sudden increase of CIA activity in East Germany had alarmed the KGB and the Politburo very much, and, purely by chance, it had coincided with a rise in nationalism among the East Germans. The General Secretary, Leonid Brezhnev, didn't know that, but he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"Hold your fire," said Pavelovna. "That's our contact."

A dark figure stepped out of the bushes, holding up a Heckler & Koch HK21 light machine gun. Once he was bathed in moonlight, the two Soviet snipers could make out his features more clearly. He was an albino, with white skin and hair and red eyes. How he had managed to get in the military was nothing short of a miracle.

"Welcome to the German Democratic Republic," he said in Russian. "I am Lieutenant Gilbert Beilschmidt of the National People's Army. There is a good sniping position not far from here. Follow me, and mind you don't get lost."

They reached a grassy knoll which had a good view of the motel where the local KGB division said the leader of the new CIA team, a Captain Alex Mason, was staying. Pavelovna and Sokolov settled in and aimed their Dragunov sniper rifles equipped with infrared scopes at Mason's window. Beilschmidt, meanwhile, mounted his HK21 machine gun on a rock and acted as the rearguard of the two veteran Soviet snipers.

"I see Mason moving around in his room, Comrade Colonel," said Sokolov. "I think he's worried about something."

"Our friends did say that he has arranged a meeting with the great Dr. Hans Berg," replied Pavelovna. "He sounds very worried with the information he wants to tell the good doctor."

"Unfortunately for him, he won't be able to deliver that information," said Sokolov. "So, after we take him down, what's the plan?"

"We go in and grab his intelligence, Sasha."

"Damn, it's good to be working with you again, Comrade Colonel."

Beilschmidt rubbed his eyes and yawned. This operation was more boring than eavesdropping on a loudmouthed drunk, which some East German politicians were. And then he heard it, the soft steps of a person trying to go through shrubbery quietly and failing. He aimed his HK21 at where he thought the steps came from and shouted in German, "Who goes there?"

"Nobody!" shouted the noise, also in German. "Just two _kinder_ making out!"

"All right. Continue." But as Beilschmidt turned around to inform the two snipers of the intrusion, he felt more than he heard the bullet that struck him on his pale right cheek. "Ah!" he shouted in pain. "Comrades, we are under attack!"

_

* * *

Transmission #: 12-6-18 / Designate: FOXTROT  
CIA presence in _**East Germany** _poses a threat to the local leadership  
Pavelovna and Sokolov to eliminate_** Mason** _and CIA support team  
2200 hours _**December 5, 1978**

_4…8…15…16…23…42…_Every time Mason tried to shut the numbers out of his head, it only grew stronger, even though he and the others had taken out the numbers station underneath the _Rusalka_ ten years ago. There was a possibility that there was another numbers station here in East Germany, but he still had Dr. Hans Berg to ask about his involvement his the Ascension Group, Friedrich Steiner, and Nikita Dragovich. Hudson and Weaver would take care of interrogating Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, so he had effectively tied off that loose end.

_8…4…9…11…5…6…1…_The radio in his room warbled, and he picked up its microphone. "Advance, this is Base. Go ahead."

"Base, this is Abe of Advance." Sergeant Ebenezer "Abe" Maestas was speaking in a hushed tone. "Three guys just went up on the grassy knoll with a good view of your room."

Mason stood up and scanned the scenery outside but saw nothing out of the ordinary for him. "Describe the intruders."

"There are two snipers in ghillie suits armed with Dragunov sniper rifles. The third is an East German with an HK21 machine gun guarding their rear." Suddenly, Mason heard a twig break on Maestas' end, and then a tense voice asked something in German. Maestas replied in German, meaning that Mason had no way of understanding what they were talking about. This seemed to satisfy Maestas' interrogator, and then he heard shots, as well as someone shouting, "_Genossen, wir sind angegriffen_!" That he understood. _Comrades, we are under attack!_

"Maestas, listen to me! Get your men out of there now! You, Aziz, Drew, everybody!"

"What about you, Mason?"

"Don't worry about me! I can take care of myself! Go! Go!" Just as Mason bent down to retrieve the CAR-15 Commando taped to the underside of his bed, two bullets went through the window and into the space where his head had been just a moment ago. It managed to magnify the gravity of the situation to him. "Kaylor! Shabs! Get me out of here!"

* * *

After firing the two shots that had missed Mason's head purely by chance, Pavelovna and Sokolov got out of the grassy knoll, taking Skorpion submachine guns from their holsters and following Beilschmidt to their preplanned escape point. While the Soviets waited, Beilschmidt took the time to call his getaway driver. "Ludwig, where the hell are you?" he asked him.

"I just passed Checkpoint Charlie, brother!" replied Ludwig Beilschmidt, Gilbert's younger brother. "I won't get there until ten minutes later!"

"That's cutting it close, West! Make it five!"

"Then I'll have the _polizei_ on my tail! You don't want that, do you? Maybe I can push it to eight or nine minutes, but not five!"

Gilbert sighed. "Just get here, West," he said.

True to his word, Ludwig Beilschmidt arrived at his brother's hiding place in ten minutes, and he waited patiently as Gilbert loaded the Soviet snipers inside. "There's a G11 and a CZ75 on your seat," he told his older brother as he got inside.

"Where did you get those?" asked Gilbert.

"Hey, I got the CZ75 directly from that arms plant in Czechoslovakia! It was only that HK21 and G11 I stole from the Ramstein armory!"

"Whatever, West. Just take us to Hoffenburg Air Force Base. I've had enough of this assassination business."


	3. Doof Does a Dr Clarke

_Transmission #: 80-15-50-26 / Designate: ALPHA  
Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz has been located in_** Danville, Tri-State Area  
Hudson** _and_ **Weaver **_are to interrogate Doofenshmirtz and bring him in  
1900 hours_** December 7, 1978**

Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz was quietly sipping a cup of tea when he heard the doorbell to his penthouse office ring. "Oh, I wonder who it would be," he asked in a falsely surprised tone. "Could it be Patrick the Polar Bear? Or is it Paul the Penguin?" But when he opened the door, his surprise turned real. Two men were standing there, staring at him intently. One wore an eye patch over his right eye, while the other wore sunglasses even though it was raining cats and dogs outside. Before he could react, Shades covered his mouth while Eye Patch closed and locked the door. Heinz was roughly pushed to a chair beside the windows, and while he was being tied up, he found the courage to speak. "Did Major Monotone send you?" he asked.

"Who's Major Monotone?" asked Shades in a voice that, years later, Heinz would recall as sounding like Ed Harris.

"Okay, so if Major Monotone didn't send you, then who did—? Oh! I know it now! You're CIA! Oh, my fellow evil scientists would never believe this! I was actually interrogated by the CIA, and in my own lair too! I mean—"

Eye Patch took the opportunity to keep Heinz's jaws open, and he was helpless to stop Shades from smashing one of his windows. "Hey, that cost me five dollars a pane!" he mumbled through Eye Patch's crushing hold.

"Pain?" asked Shades, obviously misunderstanding Heinz's words. He took a shard of glass from the now-broken window, forced it into Doofenshmirtz's mouth, and then punched the evil scientist twice.

"Enough!" pleaded Heinz, spitting out the now-bloody shard. "Is this about the Disperse-a-Gas-inator that I gave my Uncle Lucas in Borneo for New Year's Eve?"

Shades leaned closer to him. "Tell me more about this Disperse-a-Gas-inator."

"Oh, it's easy to explain to you secret agent types. You load a tank of the gas you wish to disperse in the back of the Disperse-a-Gas-inator, and then the nozzle sprays out a micronized form of the gas. I know that it's more complicated than those aerosol cans, but modern evil science tends toward the complicated today."

"Lucas Doofenshmirtz was arrested by Indonesian secret police when he was caught trying to disperse Nova 6 into the jungles of Borneo using your device. How did he manage to get his hands on Nova 6?" Shades continued.

"Nova 6? Come on! Ever since you guys found stocks of it in every state capital in the U.S. of A., it's child's play for us evil scientists to acquire a sample."

"Have you ever worked with Nova 6?"

"No, not Nova 6, although Uncle Friedrich Steiner, bless his soul, did give me a canister of it for Christmas. It's in that yellow tank over there. Anyway, I will admit to making chemical agents. I made my first nerve agent when I was eight. I mixed xenon hexaflouroplatinate with hafnium phosphide to create what the US Government calls Gas #: 09ZA-228GX, more commonly known as either Doofgas or Agent Cerulean, because it was loaded into cerulean barrels. Its potency was right up there with Agent Orange, but it was never used during the Vietnam War. I added technetium molybdenum oxide to the mix in order to weaken it, and the CIA adopted it as a possible method for discrediting Iron Curtain officials. Doofgas 1.2 was a sort of laughing gas, and a person who inhales it is liable to laugh and fart for hours on end. Surely it would embarrass its fair share of politicians."

"I've heard of Doofgas," said Eye Patch. "Both versions of it, I mean. She's good, but a real bitch to handle."

"If you really want to know what there is about Nova 6, ask Uncle Friedrich. Oh, wait, he's dead. Then, ask Uncle Daniel. No, wait, he's dead, too. I guess you'll have to settle for Uncle Hans."

"Uncle Hans who?" asked Shades.

"Hans Berg, of course!"

Suddenly, the other windows in Doofenshmirtz's penthouse suite shattered under gunfire, and Jason Hudson and Grigori Weaver were forced to push Doof's head down. "Damn it!" shouted Hudson. "We led them right to him?"

"Who's we?" asked Doof.

"You don't need to know, Doctor. Trust me; you'd be better off not knowing." And then, to a portable radio, he said, "Woods! Get that evac here ASAP!"

"Roger that!" replied Frank Woods, whom Alex Mason had helped escape from the Hanoi Hilton POW facility in Vietnam.

"Okay, Doctor, you're coming with us!" said Hudson, attaching a rappel line to Doof's belt.

"Wait! I don't know how to rappel!"

"Don't worry; you're hooked up to my line! I'll go easy if you want."

The air rushed by Heinz's face when they stepped out of his room and into thin air, making his eyes water. Finally, the three reached solid ground, and a gray van was waiting for them there. "Go!" shouted Woods. "Get in!" After they had piled into the van, he turned to the driver and said, "Step on it, Barrett!"

All throughout the events unfolding around him, Heinz Doofenshmirtz could only think of one thing: _I've been interrogated by the CIA! Oh, this will be a story to tell for the next Evil Scientists Convention!_


End file.
